


From Dad

by Felurian1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Childhood Trauma, Episode: s15e17 Unity, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Post-Episode: s09e07 Bad Boys, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felurian1/pseuds/Felurian1
Summary: "My entire life you've protected me.... from Dad...."Three parts. Three times Sam needed protecting. Three times Dean tried.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132
Collections: Sam Winchester WHUMP





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> (Sam is 12, Dean is 16)

Today is gonna be a bad day, Sam can feel it. Dad’s last hunt went badly, a haunting that turned out to just be a kid’s prank gone too far, and now he’s itchy. They’re all itchy. The cold winter months keep Sam indoors and while Dean’s okay with that it drives Sam nuts. He knows he’s fidgeting but he just can’t help it. 

“Sam.”

Dad’s voice is like a blunt knife. Sam drags his eyes away from the door and stifles a sigh. 

“You watchin this? One day it’ll save your life”, his dad says, gesturing with his beer at the opposite bed where Dean is assembling and disassembling a gun, again.

Sam can barely keep the sullen note out of his voice when he replies.

“Yes, sir”

Dean throws him a cautionary look, one of the secret language of expressions they’ve developed over the years that says ‘Don’t push him, not today’. Sam gives the briefest of nods in acknowledgement, and tries to focus.

“See Sammy? You just slide this on here, safety’s there, and you’re good to go”, Dean says, demonstrating the technique for him.

Sam flashes him a smile, he knows Dean’s trying to help him out explaining.

“Yeah okay, I think I got it. Show me one more time?”

CRACK

Dad’s backhand almost knocks Sam clean off the bed before he catches himself. There’s the metal taste of blood in his mouth.

“You pay attention the first time, understand?”, Dad says, as though nothing happened. As though he’s the calmest man in the world.

Behind Dad Sam can see Dean is on his feet and for a moment Sam thinks he might do something, but he’s back on the bed when Dad turns around. Their eyes meet for a second, Sam’s full of unshed tears of rage, Dean white with shock or fury, it’s hard to tell. He’s always had more self-control than Sam. Better at faking it.

A beat passes.

“Uhh Dad, can you go pick up some more beers for later? We’re almost out. I can get Sam up to scratch while you’re gone”, Dean says. If Sam hadn’t seen his face a moment ago he’d totally believe the casual tone, the relaxed hands on the bed.

Sam focuses on breathing, keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. There’s a grunt, and then Dad picks up his keys and walks out the door. They both sit there until the car engine roars, and then Dean’s on his knees in front of Sam.

“He hurt you? Show me Sammy”, he says urgently, but Sam doesn’t want to, not until he’s got the impulse to cry under control. Dean’s insistent though, so after a minute he tilts his chin up and lets the hair fall away for Dean to check him over.

Dean puts two fingers gently on Sam’s cheek and pushes, making Sam hiss. 

“Alright well, it’s not broken. Goddammit Sammy why couldn’t you just pay attention?”

Dean doesn’t sound mad, just upset, same way he is every time Sam and Dad fight. Sam doesn’t even know the answer really, but then it wasn’t really a question.

“Its not fair.” Sam can’t hide the little hiccuping sob when he says it, knows it makes him sound childish but it’s okay with Dean.

Dean’s head is down and Sam can see the tension ripple across his shoulders.

“Life’s not fair. You know that”, he replies roughly, looking at Sam properly again. “Look, why don’t you get into bed, I’ll tell Dad you felt sick or whatever, he’ll have cooled off by the morning.”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, like he’ll believe that”, he replies sarcastically.

“I’ll make him believe it. Cmon, before he gets back.”

Sam shrugs. Better than trying to learn this weapons stuff while his head is still ringing. 

He’s barely got the covers over his shoulders before Dad walks in again. There’s a pause as he clocks that Sam isn’t where he’s meant to be, and Dean’s standing between the bed and Dad, hiding Sam a little.

“Thought you said he’d be ready?”, Dad says, harsh but with a slight hesitation in his voice that makes Sam wonder.

The silence that follows is just a little too long, before it breaks with the sound of a gun cocking.

“Sam had to go to bed.”

Another long, long pause. Sam holds his breath and tries to be invisible.

Dean again. “There’s a game on, wanna watch?”

Finally Sam hears his dad move. The sound of cans being deposited on the motel table.

“Put it on”, Dad says.

A moment later the TV blares into life and Sam feels rather than hears Dean start to pack up the weapons stuff. As he shoves the duffle under Sam’s bed, he squeezes Sam’s shoulder just for a second, and then turns away. 

It’s the first time Sam’s felt his brother shaking.


	2. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is 13, Dean is 17
> 
> 6 months after John picks Dean up from the farm (9.07)

Hey Sonny

Its Dean. You probably don’t remember me but I stayed with you last summer. 

I wanted to write you and explain what happened. I know you must’ve figured out some of what was going on, but here’s the truth. I couldn’t stay, because my brother couldn’t stay. I never told you about Sam because Dad says that if anyone knows about how we live, that we’ll be taken away, and I don’t wanna do that to him. But Sam’s my brother. He’s only 13.

Me and Dad and Sam, we do some dangerous stuff. I can’t tell you about it, but we have to do it or people will get hurt. I guess that’s why I liked it so much at the farm. No monsters.

When you said that I could stay, I wanted to Sonny, I really did. But I have responsibilities. Sam, he needs me. I’m all he’s got, the only one he can talk to. Dad too, I guess. Sometimes I wish that me and Sam could’ve got arrested at the same time, then we could both have come to live with you. 

I lied before when I said I was writing to explain. I’m writing cause I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me what to do. Dad always says it’s my job to protect Sammy. My one job. And I suck at it, I really suck. I can’t keep him safe and I don’t know what to do. Help me.

I have to protect Sam from Dad. There, I said it. Dad thinks that I have to protect him from monsters but that’s not it. It’s from him. And I don’t know how. I thought about taking off, just the two of us, but we couldn’t make it. Sam’s too young, someone would notice. And Dad… Dad would kill me when he got us back. 

Is it like this for everyone Sonny? 

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I guess I thought if I said it to someone, someone like you, maybe someone would protect me too. What a dumbass idea that was. Stay safe Sonny. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

Dean

\-------------------------------------

In the still air of the motel room, Dean looks at what he’s written and laughs. It’s a short laugh. He reads back what he’s written, ignoring the places where his scratchy writing is blurred and smudged by tears. 

Dean gets up from the table and walks slowly to the bathroom. He stands over the toilet, and shakes his head. There’s a fragile smile, all broken bravado on his face. Then, very deliberately, he rips the letter in half. One, twice, again and again until little fragments of paper are flaking away and into the water. Then he drops the rest and pulls the flush.

At 17, Dean still has growing to do, his shoulder blades poking through the rag-thin shirt across his back. It’s been a lean winter and every meal he gets he’s sneaking half his food to Sammy. He splashes cold water across his face then wipes it clean, leaning on the edges of the sink for a long moment.

There is a pleasing smashing sound when Dean punches the mirror over the sink. When he looks up, a spiders web of thin cracks runs across the surface and he bares his teeth at the reflection like a dog in pain.

“You fucking idiot. What were you gonna do, tell someone? Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.”

Every word is punctuated by another crash, another spike of pain across Dean’s knuckles. It feels good. He stops, takes a breath. Considers the blood running over his hand. Then, very calmly, he washes the cuts out, wipes the blood from the mirror, adds a bandage and walks back next door.

When Sam and Dad get back, it’s like nothing ever happened. Dad doesn’t even notice the fresh cuts on Dean’s hand amongst all the other hurts. Later that night, Dean goes and cleans it again and lets Sam tie the new bandages.

“Sammy?”, Dean whispers while his brother works.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about…. Going someplace else?”

Sam’s wide eyes come up to meet his.

“Leaving?”, Sam asks in a disbelieving tone.

Dean nods, waits to see how Sam will react. He’s always thinking, his brother, always figuring out all the possible options before he speaks. Smart, not like Dean.

“We can’t leave Dad.”

Dean closes his eyes briefly, then nods.Gives Sam a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. Sorry. Was just somethin I thought of while you were gone.”, Dean says quietly.

Sam looks nervous, then leans a little closer to whisper again.

“When I’m grown, I’m gonna leave.”

Sam has so much certainty in his voice suddenly that he sounds old, older than Dean, and it makes Dean’s head spin for a second.

“You’re gonna leave me, Sammy?”, he says, on impulse.

Sam looks at him like he’s grown two heads.

“I’m gonna go live with you.”

Dean feels the relief course through him and he almost laughs before remembering to stifle it.

“Yeah. Okay Sammy. Okay.”, he mumbles.

Dean spends the rest of the night after Sam’s gone to sleep building houses in his mind, with big yards and separate bedrooms and the dog Sam’s always wanted. It makes for nice dreams but in the morning it’s gone.


	3. Both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is 15, Dean is 19

It seems like every day is a fight right now. Sam’s so full of hormones and tension that he jumps at any opportunity to answer back, and Dad just hates that. Dean’s lost count of the times he’s pulled Sam back from the edge of disaster. He feels like his nerves are thrumming all the time, always with the same rhythm look-after-sammy-look-after-sammy. It’s getting so he can’t sleep.

Today though, Dean wakes up with a happy buzzing feeling in his stomach. Today is Sam’s birthday, and today nothing can go wrong.

Until it does, of course.

About half way through a miserable breakfast of dry cereal Dean starts to realise that Dad’s forgotten. When he didn’t say anything first thing, Dean just assumed it was a game - pretend you don’t know, surprise Sam later - but no. His father isn’t even looking at Sam, head buried in old photos and lore from god knows what case.

Dean glances at Sam and immediately feels sick. Sam’s got this excited, hopeful look in his eyes, peeking around the table to see if he can glimpse a hidden present. Every alarm in Dean’s head is blaring.

“Hey Sammy, how’s about you go get us some milk from the store?”, Dean says, nice and casual.

Sam looks up in surprise, then smiles.

“Yeah, okay. Can I take a couple of bucks Dad?”, he replies, already grabbing his jacket.

Their dad just nods, not even looking up from his work.

Sam flashes Dean a conspiratorial grin, sneaks an extra dollar out of Dad’s wallet, and rolls out of their room whistling like it’s Christmas. Which, Dean figures, it kinda is.

Dean counts to thirty to make sure Sam’s out of range before he turns on his dad.

“You forgot?!”, Dean says, barely just containing his voice from a shout.

Dad looks up, confusion covering his face for a moment.

“Don’t you speak to me like that. Forgot what?”

Dean breathes in through his nose before replying.

“Sam. It’s Sam’s birthday. May 2nd, remember?”

There’s a flicker of something like regret across Dad’s face, but before Dean can really process it it’s gone, covered up with the resolute hardness he’s used to.

“Boy can’t be coddled forever. You stopped getting presents when you were 12.”

“But this is Sam!”, Dean says, and he knows he’s whining but he can’t help it, “He doesn’t know you forgot okay? He thinks we’re gonna…. Gonna surprise him or something”

Dad snorts at that, already back in his books. Dean wants to shake him til his teeth break. With what feels like infinite patience, he walks over and closes the book Dad’s reading. 

“Sam didn’t take the car. He’s walking. If you go now, you can still get something at the gas station and be back before he is. Please?”

Dad’s voice is dangerously steady when he replies.

“Dean. Take your hand off that book, and go and pack your things. Now.”

Dean can’t understand why his dad won’t listen to him, why he isn’t right now running to the car to try and fix this before it’s broken. He’s shaking, tears prickling in his eyes and hates himself for the show of weakness. If he was stronger, maybe Dad would listen.

Dean does what he’s told though, mechanically packing up his things, Sam’s things, cleaning up until there’s barely any sign they were here at all. From his duffle he pulls out the present he’s got, a Harry Potter book he lifted from a bookstore a few months back. At their last school the normal kids were talking about it, and Sam got all upset because he didn’t know what they meant. Dean doesn’t really know either, but it’s something.

When he’s finished packing, Dean goes and sits back at the table, placing the book wrapped in newspaper in front of Sam’s place. There isn’t long to wait before Sam strolls back in, milk in hand and a suspicious rustle in his pocket. Dean restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

As soon as Sam sees the present his face lights up. He rushes to the table and sits down, milk abandoned on the counter.

“Is this for me?”, Sam says, all kidlike eagerness even though he’s 15 now.

Dean just nods, and watches as Sam rips off the newspaper and finds his gift.

“Me and Dad thought you’d like this one,” Dean says, quietly.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Me and Dad thought you’d like this one,” Dean says, and Sam immediately knows he’s lying. All the happiness and comfort drops away, replaced by a hard pit of knowing. He looks over to where Dad is sitting in the corner, not even looking at them.

“You and Dad, huh?”

Dean clearly wants him to drop it, accept the lie, but Sam feels all his hot rage bubbling to the surface again. It’s not fair. With a clatter he gets to his feet, letting the wildness guide him as he walks over to Dad.

“You know if you weren’t so focussed on all this crap,” Sam says, gesturing at the newspapers strewn across the bed, “Maybe you’d remember how to be a good dad!”

A ringing silence follows his words, and Sam immediately knows he’s gone too far. He’s backing away, hands up like an apology, when his dad rises off the bed like a storm. 

The first blow strikes Sam clean across the face and drops him sprawling to the floor, blood spraying from his nose and into his mouth. 

“You ungrateful shit”, Dad says, and his boot slams into Sam’s belly making him retch and cough. Sam twists to avoid the next kick, hands coming up blindly to cover his face, his neck, legs curling to protect himself. 

The next strike breaks his fingers and Sam screams, half pain and half fury at his own helplessness as he tries to push himself away from his dad’s terrible anger.

And then Dean is there, standing between him and Dad and his fist comes up to connect with Dad’s jaw and Sam’s more shocked by that than he has been in his whole life. Dad doesn’t take it easy though, he punches back but Dean is too fast, too well trained and he steps back and throws all his weight into a kick that launches Dad back and into the wall.

Dean’s already moving though, saying something to Sam and he’s trying to focus through the ringing in his ears.

“Sam! Sam, you have to get up, you have to move, cmon!”, Dean’s yelling it in his face, hands tugging on his shirt to pull him up and it hurts but Sam does it anyway. He’s leaning heavily across Dean’s shoulder and he sees that in Dean’s spare hand is a shotgun pointed straight at Dad.

“Keys”, Dean says, spitting the word at Dad like a curse. Dad gestures at his jacket and Dean fumbles for them, grabs them, pulls Sam towards the door.

Their bags are by the door, Sam can’t quite work out when Dean put them there, but he grabs them both, gasping as the pain tears through his ribcage.

“We’re going to Bobby’s. You won’t be there for at least a month, got it?”, Dean asks, but it’s not really a question.

To Sam’s continuing amazement, Dad just nods, and it comes to Sam that Dean can beat their dad in a fight now. That maybe he’s stronger than Dad, after all.

“If you come before that, if you cause trouble for us, so help me I’ll tell him everything,” says Dean. Tears are rolling down his face and wetting Sam’s arm where he’s propped against him, but his voice is steady and calm. 

Dad nods again, and then they’re out of the door, Dean dropping the shotgun as they go and taking the bags from Sam to bundle him into the backseat of the Impala. 

The car engine roars into life as Dean pulls them away from the motel, and through the adrenaline and the jolting ache Sam manages to smile. He catches Dean’s eye in the rearview mirror, sees the tears still streaming from his face, and loudly, as loud as he can, Sam hums the happy birthday tune. And then he laughs until he passes out.


End file.
